


When I See You Again

by twelveisagoodone



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sickfic, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-10 07:24:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4382612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twelveisagoodone/pseuds/twelveisagoodone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The TARDIS crashes in an unknown planet and Clara finds herself with a Time Lord with no memories and a inoperative TARDIS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There is a shadow in my place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to misswinterseat. Without her help this story will be a nightmare of verbal tenses and mixed prepositions!
> 
> The title of the first chapter comes from the song ‘I do’ from Susie Suh, which by the way suits this story very well.
> 
> As usual, send me your comments! Thank you all.

He lifts his eyes to peek once more through the window. Outside, the shadow of the big oak tree is almost touching the road and he feels that strange feeling on the pitch of his stomach. She will be home very soon.

From inside a bowl with fresh water, a pair of tired eyes stare back at him for a quick moment, before they vanish behind his hands. Slowly, he removes the dark charcoal stains from his fingers and cleans the spots of dust from his trousers. But there is still the problem of putting or not his shirt inside his trousers and he finally decides for the last. If it won’t do much to improve his appearance, at least it will hide better the fact that he keeps losing weight. This will certainly sadden her and, though he suspects that his little trick won’t fool her watchful eyes, he can’t refrain himself from doing everything he can to save her from more worries.

Slowly, he rolls the sleeves of his shirt down and buttons it at the cuffs, checking the window once more. It won’t take long now.

He sits back at his worktable and opens his sketchbook, carefully flipping through the pages filled with his drawings. She is everywhere, on every single page; her adorable face and the things that make him think she’s so beautiful – the delicate curve of her chin and the fullness of her perfect lips; that funny but undeniable lovely little nose and the way it wrinkles when she smiles; the way her soft dark hair rest on the crook of her neck; her magnificent big brown eyes and the spark that lights them up sometimes, but also the shadow of sadness in them when she thinks nobody is looking (and that never fails to break his hearts). Every little detail captured with the careful and attention of an unuttered emotion, a mute confession, that aches in his hearts.

The door opens with a creak and he quickly closes the sketchbook, crossing his hands over it when Clara takes the sit in front of him with a smile. It is a sad one. And it always confuses him because part of him knows that it shouldn’t be like that. It should be bright and broad and light up the entire room. Even though, he silently accepts it for what it is, like a gift, from her to him, because he knows how hard all that is for her.

“Hey,” her voice sounds tired and his hearts sink heavily but he tries to show her his best smile despite himself. It does little to cheer her up, though. Maybe he doesn’t know how to do that anymore. Has he ever? “Feeling better today?”

There are so many things concealed in her question, but he chooses not to think about them. He knows he doesn’t have the answers, at least not the ones she wishes to hear the most. And that pains him.

“My knee is much better,” he finally says and stretches his leg to prove his point. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“That’s good,” her smile widens just a little bit, but enough for him to notice the small movement on the corner of her lips. “I brought you something,” she places a bag over the table in front of him.

Clara is always bringing him stuff from the village; food, books, new pencils, brushes and notebooks. Once she brought him a new shirt, of a beautiful shade of purple, that he keeps carefully inside the wardrobe waiting for a special occasion to wear it for her.

“What is it?” He opens the bag with curiosity to peek inside.

“Apples,” her eyes are on his face, studying him. “And a new book. I hope you will like it.”

He smiles. He doesn’t know many things these days. But he knows that he loves books. And apples. He picks two from inside the bag and hands one to her. Her fingers brush his lightly and he feels a jolt of warmth running through his hand. This is another thing he knows: he likes her touch too.

He finally pulls out of the bag a big volume with “The History of the Universe” written in stylish silver letters on the bright blue cover. Inside, the pages are covered with colored images from stars, nebulas, planets and galaxies, telling amazing stories of old legends and impossible heroes.

“Thank you,” he looks at her with a grin and she smiles back, her eyes moving to the sketchbook still underneath his arms.

“So, when will you show me your drawings?” Clara looks at him and he sustains her gaze for a moment longer. He knows that he probably never will. How can he show her such a confession?

“Tomorrow. Maybe.”

“You said this yesterday, and the day before, and before,” her teasing tone soothes him but isn’t enough to make him change his mind. There is too much inside his sketchbook to show her.

“Yeah. But I said maybe,” he lifts one eyebrow and she laughs. It isn’t her best laughter; it doesn’t erase the hint of sadness from her eyes, but it is still a beautiful sound that puts a smile on his face. They look at each other for a long moment and he feels something shifting inside him.

There is a knock on the door and a second later the smiling face of a young man pops up through it. Jamie. He knows him, knows his name, but can’t remember who had told him that. Maybe she had.

“Dinner is ready and granny is waiting for you,” he opens the door and walks inside. “Both of you.”

His beaming face is still dusty from work, but he doesn’t seem to care about it. Clara smiles at the lad. She seems to be very fond of Jamie and he can’t blame her, most of the time the boy is a nice fellow to have around.

“Hello, Doctor! How was your day?”

Not when Jamie does that. Definitely, never when he does that. That always distresses him and he can’t stop himself from jumping on his feet and pointing his forefinger at the boy.

“Don’t ever call me that!” He practically growls prompting Jamie to give a step back. “I’m not this… Doctor!” He turns around and walks to the back of the room, clenching his fists and closing his eyes. Maybe he overreacted, but now it is too late.

The young man opens his mouth to speak but Clara prevents him with a shake of her head and silently asks him to leave them alone. Jamie nods and she shows him an apologetic smile before he closes the door behind him.

The wooden floor creaks under her footsteps, until he finally feels the warm touch of her fingers on his forearm, gently coercing him to turn around. But he doesn’t move, still not prepared to face her.

“I’m not him,” he whispers, all his frustration very clear on the trembling of his hands. “I’m sorry, Clara.”

“It’s ok,” her soft voice soothes him and her delicate fingers slide along his arm until she finds his larger hand to hold. “You just need some more time.”

He accepts her nearness in a defeated silence and her words cut his skin and burn inside his hearts.

“Look at me, please,” she tugs at his hand gently and he finally turns around, raising his eyes to face her warm brown ones. “It’s not your fault,” she reassures him. “Ok?”

A faint smile curls the corner of her lips up when he finally nods, reducing the tension in the air around them. Her small hands hold both of his now and she gently pulls him towards the door.

“Now, come on. Dinner is waiting.” He opens his mouth to protest, but she doesn’t give him a chance. “Maya told me that you haven’t eaten a thing since breakfast. It is no wonder that you are just skin and bones.”

He makes a face that Clara ignores while she opens the door and steps outside to wait for him. He stares at her for a brief moment and she quirks an eyebrow, letting him know that he doesn’t have a vote on this matter. With a dramatic sigh, he finally walks outside, like a child ready to put a tantrum, making her roll her eyes at him when he walks past her. But when she isn’t looking, he almost smiles.

\-- 0 – 0 --

Dinner is a pleasant affair as always, and Clara feels part of her tensions vanishing while the three of them chat happily. The Doctor is silent, only speaking when someone asks him a direct question. His answers are short and dismissive even for her.

At least he is eating and she sees the satisfied smile that crosses Maya’s face while the older woman watches her grumpy guest eating with an unusual appetite.

Life chooses strange paths sometimes, but Clara can’t be more grateful for finding this kind woman and her grandson on theirs.

After the crashing, she had found herself with a barely conscious and badly wounded Time Lord inside an inoperative TARDIS, which had left her without any other option than to look for help outside. The place where they had fallen seemed to have come out of a science fiction movie from the eighties, a peaceful planet inhabited mainly by humanoids with very similar habits to those from the Earth she knows.

Fortunately, the first ones to find them had been Maya and Jamie, kind and warm people that immediately had offered them shelter and had taken care of their wounds without any questions.

Maya’s eyes meet hers and the two women exchange a knowing smile. Clara doesn’t know if one day she will be able to properly thank them for everything they are doing for her and the Doctor. She can only hope.

Her gaze comes back to the Doctor. His eyes are lost at some distant point and she suppresses a sigh. She misses his ramblings, his breathless speeches about everything and nothing, even his tactless observations about her humanity. But the Time Lord has been like that since the crashing, always silent and most of the time lost in his own world. She knows he is lost, she can see the hopeless in his eyes when he thinks no one is looking, and that terrifies her.

Since the first day, when she had noticed he had lost his memory, she tries to help him the best she can. But without the TARDIS, that has supposedly locked herself into a self-repair mode (and that is carefully hidden on Maya’s backyard at the exactly same place of the crash) and the very limited medical knowledge on the planet, there is little she can do.

Even then, she tries to rebuild his memories through hers own, day after day, telling him everything she knows about his past, about Gallifrey and the Time Lords, about the TARDIS and their adventures together across time and space. She tells him about the great things he did, people he knows and all the incredible places he saw.

And she also tells him about the man her heart knows so well, the Doctor, her Doctor, her dear best friend and his clever mind, his brave heart and his rebellious soul.

At the beginning, he listens to her in silence, sometimes confused, sometimes focused, but she can say that he is trying hard to solve the puzzle of his own existence.

But then, as days become weeks and weeks sum up into months with no sign of healing, his distress becomes more and more palpable, visible at his pained features and at his angry behavior. Until she eventually stops to tell him stories about him and starts to pray in secret. She prays that time can heal his mind or the TARDIS can finally let them back inside, whichever comes first.

Lately, she started to pray for a miracle because she is his impossible girl and he is her impossible man and they always do impossible things for each other.

\-- 0 – 0 --

After dinner, Clara walks into the kitchen to help Maya with the dishes while he and Jamie go outside and sit on the porch to observe the starry sky.

Clara shows up some time later, carrying a tray with tea mugs that she places at the small table near her favourite armchair. He picks two and hands one to Jamie in a silent apology for his harsh behaviour from earlier and the boy smiles his acknowledgement. The mug warms his hands and he sits on the front step, leaning against the rail to look at the sky, purposely turning his back at Clara.

“You should pick a name, you know,” Jamie says after a long silence. The two of them look at the young man in surprise and the lad shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “One that you like, at least,” Jamie adds with a shrug.

He takes a deep breath and avoids Clara’s eyes, trained at him with concern.

The Doctor. His name. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it became. Not because he doesn’t like it. True that it sounds a little presumptuous, but that isn’t the point. It is everything that that name holds, all the memories that doesn’t belong to him anymore, all the promises to the Universe he is no longer able to keep. But more important than that, all the faith she has on him, all she hopes him to be, everything she wants him to be and that he knows he can’t be anymore.

“John,” his own voice catches him by surprise, but he remains still at his place and watches Clara from the corner of his eye.

“What?” She sits up straight in her chair, her arm frozen in the middle of the movement of taking her tea mug to her lips.

“John,” he repeats. “It is a name, isn’t it?”

“It is,” she looks at him a moment longer. “Why John?”

Her eyes are wide and he can see something like hope inside them. He bites his lip, knowing that he is about to disappoint her once more because the reason his mind chose that name isn’t any of the possible ones she expects it to be.

“It’s the name of the author of the book,” he takes a long sip from his mug, hiding his face to not see his own pain reflected in her eyes. “The one you gave me,” he adds and clears his throat, dry even after he had drank.

Clara nods and slowly sinks back in her chair, moving her face to the shadows and making his hearts constrict inside his chest.

“It is a good name,” Maya’s voice breaks the heavy silence and the older woman smiles at them, taking the seat next to Clara. “And it suits you if you want my opinion. What do you think, Clara?”

Clara’s face reemerges from the shadows, her sad eyes gently searching for his for a moment before she turns to face the older woman.

“I think it is a good choice.”

She is clearly hiding something, he can tell. Probably he should know about this name too, but he simply doesn’t have the courage to ask her. Even then, he will keep it. John. It is simple and short and as good as any other name he knows. Except for his own. The name he had chosen, she had told him once, along with a promise to the Universe. Sadly, now a broken promise.


	2. You shed a light into this empty space

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have been there for so long that they start to settle down in a very ordinary life. Although the Doctor starts to show signs of healing, it is other things about him that start to get Clara’s attention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once more, many thanks to misswinterseat for all her help!
> 
> As in the first chapter, the title of this one also comes from the song ‘I do’ from Susie Suh

As soon as she found that their stay at that place could be quite long, she decided to get a job, even under Maya’s protests. They were already there for a few weeks and she doesn’t want to be a burden or abuse their hospitality. Besides, a job will be good not only because the extra money to help with the house expenses, but also to keep her mind occupied with other things than her inability of helping the Doctor to recover his memory. So she starts to work at a little shop in the village, without caring about the daily walk through the dusty road that leads to there.

That entire memory loss thing seems to her just like the first days after the regeneration all over again. He is there, her dear friend, still the same man although slightly different. But this time, she can see him, not because he still has the same face, but mainly because she can really see him, the Doctor, the man behind all the faces he has already had. She knows who he is inside his heart. Or hearts. And she can see that they are still the same and are still at the right place, even under his state of confusion and lost memories.

The Doctor, or John as he insists they should keep calling him, is now like a slightly softer version of himself, more like the glimpses she had caught of the man he was in private, in the quiet moments they shared at the TARDIS in between their adventures.

He still can be sharp-tongued, frenetic and grumpy sometimes, in the best Doctor-y style, but his smiles come more easily and his eyes sustain her gaze longer these days. Eyes that now have an unusual light, a warmth that she had already seen before in the rare moments the Doctor let his guard down or when he thought she wasn’t looking.

At first, Clara doesn’t know what to do of it and she blushes every single time he looks at her like that. And now, although more used to that, she still prefers not to think much about it, afraid of all the implications that might come along with that.

He rarely leaves the house and spends most of his time at the workshop, an old garage transformed years ago by Maya’s late husband. At the beginning, he is forced to do it because of his injuries and that is what first leads him to start drawing.

Even knowing that he spends long hours filling the pages of the notebooks she gives to him, she has never done more than ask him to show her, never putting any pressure to see them, ignoring her own curiosity on behalf of his well-fare.

Besides, this kind of a hobby of his is enough to keep him away from trouble until he is fully physically recovered and starts to get restless, in all his complete spooky and unnerving agitation. But instead of starting to pester everyone, as Clara first feared, he starts to fix things.

It begins with small things, like the kitchen cabinet’s doors that had never properly closed and the uneven legs of the living room chairs. Then he moves to bigger ones; the old lawn mower when he sees Jamie kicking it in frustration because the old monster stopped working in the backyard; the roof tiles when he heard Maya complaining about the leaks on her bedroom after a particularly rainy night.

It doesn’t take him much more time to start building things; a cart that Jamie can attach to the back of his bicycle to make the deliveries of the fresh jam Maya sells; an unnamed gadget that helps Maya to actually make jam in more quantity than her old kitchen utilities allow her.

Some people say that old habits die hard, and that lights up a spark in Clara’s heart that maybe, finally, his mind is slowly coming back from the shadows where it has been.

\-- 0 – 0 --

He has been acting strangely for the last few days, even for the Doctor’s standards or, for all that mattered, for John’s.

At first, none of them think that the loud sounds coming from the workshop are something to be concerned about. Since he has started to fix and build things, they all think he is working on a new gadget, and nothing, besides the fact that he now always keeps the workshop locked, seems to be out of place.

Then his clothes start to have black stains, which look like oil, and it isn't unusual that he shows up for dinner with black spots on his face and hands just to be sent back to the washroom to clean himself before getting back to the table.

Maya is the first to notice his disappearances from the house when she can’t find him anywhere one afternoon. It worries her at first, but when he comes back less than half an hour later, with a bag full metallic trinkets he has fetched from the junkyard nearby, and locks himself inside the workshop with nothing but a faint nod at her, she concludes that he surely is working on a new gadget and keeps it as their little secret.

A couple of days after his first disappearance, Maya hears a loud bang, like an explosion, coming from the workshop and runs outside to see what has happened.

There is black smoke coming from behind the doors and she knocks at it desperately calling his name. She is about to call for help when he finally opens the door, coughing hard, his face, hands and clothes blackened with dust and spots of that thing that seem to be oil.

“For the sake of the old Gods, John! What has happened to you? Are you hurt?”

He gently moves away her hands when she reaches out for him and takes a deep breath before he can finally speak. “I’m fine, no need to worry,” he coughs again and Maya pulls him away from the workshop and the smoke that is still coming from inside.

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “I may need a shower, though,” he finally gives her a bashful smile looking at his poor appearance and shakes off some dust from his clothes. “But that is all.”

“If you say so,” she gives a couple of steps toward the house and waits for him to join her, what he eventually does after he carefully locks the workshop door. That doesn’t go unnoticed on her and she watches him for a moment, before opening the front door and holding it open for him.

“I’ll wait for you in the kitchen with a good cup of coffee and then you can tell me about what you are working on.”

He opens his mouth to protest but she gently interrupts him with a smile and a lifted hand.

“If you are going to explode my workshop, at least I need to know why,” she winks at him and walks away, leaving him standing in the doorway.

Fifteen minutes later he leans against the kitchen threshold, freshly bathed, hands in his pockets and that stern look on his face. There is a small scratch on his forehead, but nothing that deserves any more attention than clean water. She smiles and motions for him to sit, putting a mug of steamy coffee and a plate of biscuits in front of him.

“So?” She lifts an eyebrow when he keeps quiet. “Is there anything I need to know?”

“There is nothing to worry about,” he says taking a good sip from his coffee.

“One could completely disagree with you after what just happened,” she sits at the table across him with a smile.

“It won’t happen again. I can assure you.”

He sustains her gaze for a long silent moment and she can tell that he is really confident about whatever he is doing in there.

“Don’t want to tell me what is this you’ve been working on so hard?”

“Not yet,” he smiles, a rare and honest smile that warms the blue of his eyes. “But you will know very soon, I promise.”

She watches him for another moment and finally nods, a small smile forming on her lips. “All right. But don’t put the house down, John, please.”

He stands up, that warm smile still on his face. “I won’t.”

\-- 0 – 0 --

It doesn’t take him much longer to fulfil his promise to Maya. On the next day, he storms at the living room with a broad smile on his face as soon as he sees Clara and Jamie coming back from the village.

“I have something to show you,” he proudly announces and the three of them look at him with curiosity. “All of you.”

“Did you finally finish it?” Maya asks him and he nods, reaching out for her to escort her outside.

Clara looks at him with a silent question in her eyes and he just winks at her over his shoulder, causing her to smile and follow them out. They all stop in front of the workshop and watch while the Doctor vanishes through the door.

After a moment they all hear a loud bang coming from inside, followed for a curse and then the sound of a car engine starting. Jamie laughs out loud and runs inside the workshop while Maya stays there, mouth covered by her hand. It takes a moment longer for Jamie and the Doctor slide open the big workshop door, revealing Maya’s old car inside, all clean, bodywork and headlights fixed and the engine miraculously working.

“I can’t believe that!” Maya clasps her hands, her eyes sparkling with refrained emotion. “Oh, John, so this is your big secret?”

He just nods, shoving his hands into his pockets and glancing at Clara to drink in the big smile dancing in her eyes. He needs to swallow before he can speak again. “It is nothing like a brand new car, but-”

Maya interrupts him wrapping him in a tight hug that makes him flinch slightly, terrified eyes searching for Clara in a silent ask for help. But she only pushes back a giggle. Still not a hugging person after all.

“Hope you can forgive me,” he finally says when Maya lets go of him. “But it was a surprise.”

“It is a lovely surprise, John!” She says, smiling broadly.

The car was abandoned inside the workshop for years because they never had enough money to fix it. And now, with it finally working again, it will make everything easier for them; Jamie will do the deliveries faster, it will help Maya on her tasks and even Clara won’t have to walk to the village for work anymore.

“Don’t you wanna try it?” He asks, all flustered after Maya had kissed him soundly on the cheek.

They all jump inside the car and Maya drives them around the block, honking happily. Seated next to him at the back seat, Clara watches him almost in awe, lost in the sound of his laughing, something so rare that bring tears to her eyes.

He catches her strange look and his eyes move to her, concern knitting his eyebrows together.

“Are you ok?” He asks her, the smile faltering on his lips.

“Yes,” she wraps her arm around his and rests her head on his shoulder with a little sigh, feeling him stiffen just for a second before he relaxes, his body leaning against hers slightly. “I really am,” she smiles.

“What do you think about a little celebration at the city?” Maya is enthusiastic and Clara giggles, feeling her heart light like she hasn’t felt in a long time.

They go to the city; a drive of a little more than forty minutes and Maya shows them around. It is obviously much bigger than the little village they live nearby, but it is just a small city in the middle of nowhere.

Maya takes them to an old pub she knows, a place where she used to go with her late husband, that has good food and good beer and they can enjoy themselves. Even the Doctor seems to have forgotten his usual grumpy and silent self and seems to enjoy himself, listening Maya’s stories about the old times and occasionally laughing at Jamie’s attempts to joke.

 

\-- 0 – 0 --  
When they get home, hours later, they are all tired and undoubtedly happy, considering the smiles that linger on their faces. Maya and Jamie retire to the house almost immediately, leaving Clara and the Doctor alone at the porch.

It always amazes her how quiet this place is and she lifts her eyes to the impressive starry sky upon them. He stands next to her, hands in his pockets, but she can feel his gaze on her, warm and intense, in that way that never fails to make her shiver.

“Maybe you should get inside,” he says quietly, “it is getting cold out here.”

She looks at him, her eyes gently searching his, for a moment without fear, without pain. Going on her tiptoes, she places a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes never leaving his.

“For… what?” He stutters with that adorable look of confusion on his face and she feels a smile tugging on the corner of her lips.

“For everything,” she says, her hand sliding gently on his arm.

After she disappears through the door he still stays there for a long time, unable to move, still feeling the soft touch of her lips on his skin.

\-- 0 – 0 --

“I’d like to ask you a favour,” he comes to the kitchen one afternoon, hands in his pockets, expectant eyes watching Maya while he stands at the door.

“Sure! How can I help you, John?” She cleans her hands with the kitchen towel and, with a kind smile, motions her hand to ask him inside while she pours him a cup of coffee that she places over the table.

He nods his thanks and sits at the chair taking a long sip before he finally speaks.

“Can you teach me how to drive?”

She seems surprised by his request, but the smile is still on her lips when she answers him.

“Of course, I can,” she peeks at the big watch at the kitchen’s wall and pats his arm. “Actually, I have some places to go today, so you can come with me for your first lesson. Drink your coffee and eat something while I change. Meet me at the porch in fifteen. Ok?”

He smiles at her. “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me. I kind of owe you this,” she winks at him and vanishes through the kitchen’s door before he can say anything else.

When she had asked him to come with her, she could never think that his first lesson would become his only one. It takes him an hour or so to learn how to drive and she is certain that it would’ve taken him less if he weren’t so stubborn. Yet, he is the fastest learner she has ever seen, and she thinks that it is because he already knew it before. So it is like his mind has just remembered it, even if not consciously.

Whether that is true or not, he can’t say. He hasn’t any remembrance of knowing how to drive, so he thinks that it is because he is just a clever man. But this he doesn’t tell her. It sounds too smug even for him. Besides, he is thankful for her help, so he spends the rest of the afternoon driving Maya wherever she needs to be, crossing the dusty roads with restrained joy, although he thinks that the smile playing on his lips gives him away.

“You still have time to pick Clara at the village,” she says when he parks the car in front of the house some time later.

He shakes his head. “No. I can’t do it yet.”

When Maya lifts her eyebrows at him, he explains.

“It’s that I’ve been planning a surprise for her.”

“A surprise?”

He shifts in his seat and bites his thumb, watching the road for a moment, before he speaks again. “I was thinking about taking her to dinner out, at the city. In one of that fancy restaurants you showed us the other day.”

Maya's face breaks into a broad smile. “It is a lovely idea! She will love it!”

He blushes, casting a glance at his hands on his lap before he looks at her once more.

“Do you think?”

“’Course she will!” She pats his arm, fondly. “Do you know how to get there by yourself?”

He thinks for a moment. “I think I will have to figure it out.”

“Nonsense,” she jumps out of the car and he does the same following her back to the house. “We can go there tomorrow.”

“It’s very kind of you, but I don’t-”

“Don’t worry. Besides, I think that doing some shopping will make me some good.”

\-- 0 – 0 --

Maya wasn’t lying when she told him about shopping. After showing him how to get to the restaurant, she takes him to a big shop and insists that they need to buy some new clothes for Clara and maybe something for him too.

“A girl needs to be at her best for a date,” she states at his amazement and he freezes. He never thought about that as a date. But it is, isn’t it? He is about to invite her in a real proper date and he catches himself thinking if he has ever done that before. But he can’t remember. Besides, that doesn’t matter. He still wants to do it, he still wants to take her out for dinner and it doesn’t really matter how they will call that. As long as she likes it, as long as it makes her happy, nothing else matters to him.


	3. I can’t understand why I feel this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She notices the changes in him, the changes in them, and she doesn’t know for how long she will be able to hide her feelings from him, especially when he acts like that, as if she is his universe. And that terrifies her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the lovely comments! It make me very happy especially because I wasn't expecting so much about this fiction.  
> So, here is another chapter, a little angst, I'm afraid, but necessary.
> 
> Thanks once more to the lovely misswinterseat for her help and incentive!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it and, please, let me know what you think about it.

Clara opens the workshop door only to find it strangely empty. He always waits for her in there, so the concern that furrows her brow it’s just a natural reaction when she finds the place empty.

The big box with a huge red ribbon that rests on his table catches her eye and she immediately sees that there is a note with her name fixed on it. Carefully, she removes the note and opens it; breathe caught in her throat that she can’t quite understand. Inside, there is a small piece of paper with scrawled handwriting that she recognises as his.

“Meet me at the porch at 7:00. Don’t forget to check the box. There is something inside of it that you might need.

John.”

She folds the note and slowly places it inside her coat pocket, ignoring the strange feeling at the pitch of her stomach. Inside the box, she finds a dark blue dress with a matching jacket and a pair of black high heels. Clara bites the inside of her cheek. That is really unexpected, to say the least.

He bought her a dress. And shoes. No, not any shoes, high heels. And it doesn’t matter that he probably had help from someone, Maya surely. It’s high heels. And apparently he invited her for a… thing?

For a moment, she tries to make sense of all that but gives up. One hundred confused thoughts cross her mind in less than one second and she needs to take a deep breath to not succumb to her deepest worries. So she chooses to ignore her erratic heartbeats and the way her chest seems to constrict, almost painfully. She can’t think too much about that, not now when she has a little more than thirty minutes to get ready for whatever he has planned for them tonight. And most of all, she doesn’t want to disappoint him. She can’t.

So, she practically runs to the house with the big box in her arms and pretends to ignore the knowing look on Maya’s face when she walks past her into the living room, thinking that maybe later, the two of them should have a serious talk.

\-- 0 – 0 --

He has been pacing at the porch for agonising and endless minutes when she finally emerges from the front door taking his breath away without any previous warning. He tries to find a word to describe her, but can’t. Her sparkling brown eyes catch all of his attention and steal from him his ability to do anything else than stare dumbly at her.

They look at each other for a moment, unspoken emotions lingering in the air that surrounds them as he tries to remember how to speak. But it is her voice that sounds first, breaking the silence.

“Look at you,” she smiles, a hint of pink creeping up her cheeks while she approaches him. “All dapper.”

His fingers stretch the fabric of his jacket instinctively, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I’d rather look at you,” he catches himself saying, his voice quiet, hands searching for the safety of his pockets when he adds after he clears his throat. “If you don’t mind.”

She blushes even further and lowers her eyes for a quick moment before she looks at him once more. Despite the soft smile that graces her lips, he can say that something is amiss and he can only hope that he’s not doing this all wrong.

He finally steps closer and offers her his arm.

“Shall we?”

She takes it, delicate fingers sliding in the crook of his arm while her eyes search for his once more.

“So, where are we going?”

“Dinner out. At the city,” he says while he walks her to the car and the look of surprise on her face doesn’t go unnoticed on him when he opens the door for her to get in.

“And you will drive us there?”

“Yep,” he grins before he closes the door and practically runs around the car to get into the driver’s seat. She looks at him and he knows exactly what haunts her thoughts right now, so he practically blurts out with a shrug. “Maya taught me,” he places his sweaty hands at the steering wheel and adds, concern in his voice. “I don’t think she will try to teach me anything else after that.”

The silence hangs around them for a moment longer before she finally chuckles, the small spark that lightens up the brown of her eyes warms his chest and is able to dissipate part of his tension.

“Can’t think of any possible reason for that,” there is a teasing smile on her lips and he can barely contain his own lips to curl up when his eyes analyse her features.

“Oh, that is something I really doubt,” he offers her a teasing grin. “Ready to go, Miss Oswald?”

“Go on,” she says, her eyes on him. “Impress me.”

He chuckles, turning the engine on and putting the car in movement.

“Well, I only want to cheer you up,” he casts her a side glance, “Impressing you in the middle of the process will be a big bonus.”

\-- 0 – 0 --

He takes her to a fancy restaurant at the city. They talk, they laugh, they eat and drink. And enjoy themselves. In peace. She is still the one that makes most of the conversation, but he is remarkably talkative tonight, in contrast with his usual quiet demeanour since the crashing. Dangerously charming in the naivety of his dimpled boyish grins and warm lingering glances.

It would be so easy to get carried away by the familiar spark in the blue of his eyes, by the warm brush of his fingers on the back of her hand when they stand once again on the porch, surrounded by the silence of the night.

She can feel her heart beating in her throat when he steps closer, she can feel the heat on her cheeks, her mouth is dry in anticipation when his warm breath tingles her skin. But in the end it’s the way his eyes keep searching for hers, so open, so full of emotions that she can recognise, that breaks her and makes her avert her eyes and step back.

She can’t. She just can’t. He is still there, in a confused silence, but still gently holding her hand and she just can’t. Not because she doesn’t want to kiss him, she had dreamed about this moment for too long to lie to herself right now. But because it doesn’t feel right to do it now, when he still doesn’t remember who he is, doesn’t know who she is, who they are. It is like betraying him. Again. And she can’t do it.

The soft brush of his thumb on the back of her hand makes her raise her head and she sees the shadow of pain darkening his eyes. He tries to disguise it with a faint smile, but she knows him too well. Her heart shatters all over again. She doesn’t want to hurt him, but she does it, nonetheless. And suddenly it is just too much.

“I must go,” she says, trying to prevent the whirl of emotions in her chest of showing up in her voice.

He just nods, still not letting go of her hand.

“It… It was a lovely night,” she forces a smile but can’t avoid his eyes, and for a moment, she almost falters seeing too much inside those blue orbs of his. She closes hers and swallows hard. “Thank you,” she finally whispers, before she plants a soft kiss on his cheek.

He opens his mouth but doesn’t speak, as if the words suddenly have failed him. Instead, he takes her hand to his lips and kisses it, gently.

When she moves away, her fingers slowly slipping away through his warm ones, she feels her heart aching, like she has just left a piece of it behind. Maybe she has.

\-- 0 – 0 --

Clara lays on her bed, staring at the ceiling, sleep far away from coming any soon. Her mind races, her heart aches, overflowed by all the feelings she had kept hidden for so long.

She can’t stop thinking about him, about that smile that crinkles his nose, about the spark that lights up his eyes, so full of expectation, so full of hope and other things she can’t quite believe. But it was all there, emotions she once thought she might have caught a quick glimpse before, written raw and clear in his so ever blue eyes. And it is the worst best thing that can happen to them, everything that could be so right and so good, turned into wrong because he is not himself.

It doesn’t matter how things have improved between them, this is not who they are. He is not her boyfriend, words that still sting, even now. He is the Doctor, a Time Lord, an extraordinary being who has lived for more than two thousand years, her best friend in the entire Universe. So, it doesn’t matter that her heart has loved and longed for him since… ever. He is sick and needs her, his best friend. He trusts her. And she will never ever break his trust by taking advantage of his confused mind.

She closes her eyes but can’t avoid the flow of different emotions while she thinks about him. It is too hard to conceal them when he looks at her like that like she is his entire universe.

Her eyes burn with the sting of unshed tears, the knowledge that he is in the next room, that they are separated only by the wall behind her bed is suddenly almost too much.

Restless and painful, she wears a pair of jeans and an old t-shirt and decides to go outside. Maybe some fresh air will help her to clear her mind and find the sleep she lost. Although, by the turmoil forming inside her, she really doubts it.

She stops just for a second in front of his bedroom door, trying to hear any sound coming from inside, but decides to move away before she might have any absurd ideas. Things are already pretty messy in the way they are right now.

The night is cool and pleasant and once more she is amazed by the darkness around them. She sits on the porch step and looks up at the sky with its billions of different stars, missing too much the times they were out there, exploring the Universe.

Somewhere, nearby a dog barks. Other than that, it’s all silence. A silence so big that she has this feeling that the others inside the house can hear her breath.

\-- 0 – 0 --

He sits in the shadows, thinking, feeling, regretting. Inside his chest, a dull ache burns and prevents him from breathing properly. He gives up waiting for it to stop because it won’t. Ever. Not while he can’t be the man she longs for, the Doctor, her Doctor.

His breath catches in his throat when he sees her, walking carefully to sit on the porch. He is relieved that she doesn’t see him because he is not sure if he can face her right now. So he remains hidden by the shadows, silently drinking in her vision.

The moonlight bathes her face; casting a kind of misty glow over her and the gentle night breeze caresses her dark hair. She is a beautiful woman, and he wishes that she could understand how truly beautiful she is for him. But it is not her beauty that affects him more. Somehow he knows that it never was. There is something different about her, something special, like the fire of burning suns in her smiles, like a mystery, carefully kept in the depths of those dark eyes, just waiting for the right moment, for the right person to be revealed. And how he wishes that it could be him. And maybe it is. But not this him.

He suppresses a sigh, unable to move his eyes from her. She has him under her spell since the very first moment he had opened his eyes, confused and hurt, and he knows that he can sit here forever, just watching her.

Then his clumsiness spoils the moment when he shifts in his seat and the boards under his chair creak startling her, giving him no other option than reveal his presence to her. Her face softens when she sees him coming from the shadows behind her.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he stands to give a couple of steps towards her.

She shows him a half smile. “I didn’t see you coming.”

“Well,” he scratches the back of his neck feeling the heat on his cheeks, “I was already here when you came,” he shoves his hands in his trouser pockets. “You seemed to be so determined to be unnoticed that I’d rather remain quiet.”

She watches him for a quick second before the corners of her mouth twitch in a tiny smile and she pats the place next to her. Slowly, he closes the distance between them and sits next to her but he still keeps his distance.

\-- 0 – 0 --

“Sleepless?”

“Yeah,” she nods, eyes fixed in the distance avoiding his. He is the last person she should talk to right now but is the only person she wants to be with. How can that be? She closes her eyes, feeling his presence next to her, strong and quiet. She is tired, of many things, but mostly of fighting against herself. She glances at him, his glorious silver curls sway under the soft breeze. Maybe she should stop fighting.

Her eyes move back to the road and she can see the big oak casting shadows under the dim light of the moon. And everything surrounding them is so quiet, as the entire universe lies still, barely breathing, just waiting. And he is there, by her side, arms crossed over his knees, eyes lost in the dark night and she wonders what he is waiting for.

“You can almost feel the silence,” she finally says, looking around them. It takes him a moment to react, and when he does, his low chuckle reverberates inside her, warm and throaty.

“But it is not quite like that,” there is an amused look on his face when she finally gets the courage to look at him again. He watches her for a moment longer before he continues. “You just need to know how to listen to all the sounds.”

They look at each other and it is so easy to get lost in those starry eyes of his, but he is the one who saves her.

“Close your eyes,” he commands in a soft voice.

She casts him a suspicious look and he can’t hide the smirk that curls up his lips.

“Trust me. Close your eyes.”

It takes her another moment to do as she is told and when she does it, she hears his chuckle once more, his amused voice breaking any remaining tension between them.

“Oh, you are terrible! Stop peeping and shut your eyes, Clara, please?”

It is her time to chuckle. “All right. But I don’t know what yo-”

“And keep silence,” he interrupts her, placing a bony finger gently on her lips. “Can you do this?”

His touch is gentle and warm and it tingles her lips, but she shuts her eyes tightly just to avoid looking into his. It will be too much with him so close to her.

“Right,” he finally removes his finger and she instantly miss the contact. “Now, concentrate,” his voice is soft and low, the raspy tone of it warms her body in all the right places in a so very wrong moment. “Pay attention and you can hear, from your right, the gentle shush of the tree leaves swaying with the wind.”

He waits for her nod to continue.

“Did you hear it?” She nods again. “Very well. If you concentrate a little harder, you will hear, coming from downside, the sound of the creek running among the stones.”

He approaches her even more, his arm brushes hers and the warmth of his breath gently touches her ear making her shiver. But she keeps her eyes strongly shut and tries hard no to get lost in his closeness.

“If you focus a little harder,” his voice is now little more than a whisper and she swallows hard, knowing that her self-control is about to go to space at any moment. “You will hear-”

The sound of an owl near them cuts through the night and makes her snap her eyes open, completely scared. He isn’t disturbed by the unexpected interruption and continues whispering in her ear, soft eyes fixed on her, making her feel grateful that she is sitting because her knees just give up.

“A very nosy owl,” he adds prompting her to giggle, but she is forced to close her eyes once more when he quirks one eyebrow.

“And finally,” he goes on, “you will hear the low whinny from the horses in the stables from the other side of the road.”

She really struggles to hear the horses without any success and, finally defeated, opens her eyes to look at him.

“Can you really hear the horses, from here?”

“No,” his boyish grin lights up his face and warms her. “But I have a good imagination.”

They smile at each other and his blue eyes lock on hers as if he is trying to unveil all her hidden secrets. The wind blows with a little more intensity and he reaches out to remove a lock of dark hair from her face, his fingers brushing her cheek like a caress.

And then, the Universe just stops existing and she finally stops fighting. The only light is the one that comes from his eyes, the only road is the one that leads to his lips and she loses herself inside his kiss, in the soft touch of his hand on the back of her neck, in the frenetic thumping of his hearts under the palm of her hand.

But as soon as the stars start spinning under her closed eyelids and she feels his tongue gently stroking hers through her parted lips, something happens. He abruptly breaks the kiss moving away from her, his wild eyes watching her with a mix of confusion and horror that cuts her deep in her heart.

She shouldn’t have, she knows she shouldn’t have. And now it is too late.

“I’m sorry. I…” The words fail her and he keeps looking at her as if he is facing his worst nightmare. And that is too much for her to bear right now. “I’m sorry,” she says before she stands and leaves him alone, once more.


	4. I just wanna love you when you’re not enough

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are confused. Hearts are aching and heads spinning. There are secrets that need to come to surface and a path to healing can be finally emerging from the shadows of a broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all guys for all the lovely comments and kudos. Your words and thoughts are always very welcomed.
> 
> And again, my many thanks to misswinterseat for her help and support.

He kisses her. Her lips are soft and taste like spring and wine and peppermint. And for once in a long time, he feels complete. Whole. Clara is his everything and he doesn’t need anything else in the Universe. Her hand is on his chest and he can feel the warm touch of her fingerprints even over the fabric of his shirt.

Behind his closed eyes, he sees a soft dance of colourful lights. It is slow and gentle and embraces him, surrounds him and strangely, gets into his mind. There is a rush of different emotions running through him and somewhat he knows it isn’t his.

Longing. Passion. Love.

Faded images. Silver locks. Blue eyes. Fierce eyebrows. The Doctor. Him. His lips. His smile. Heartbeats. Things start to quicken, lights pulsing faster, a spiral of images and hushed sounds take over his mind. The Doctor and everything he is. Planets and books and ancient mysteries. Burning galaxies and rising suns. Danger. Thrill.

Life.

Time.

Images and feelings now explode in his mind. Darkness. Denial. Hurt. Anger.

Light.

Love.

So much love and hurt. It hurts him.

His laughter. Her laughter. Him. Them.

Love.

Fear. Regret.

Everything runs faster and faster, hitting his mind and body like a succession of electric shockwaves. It’s overwhelming and he is desperate because he wants it to stop, but doesn’t know how. It’s too loud. Too quick. Too much.

He wants to cry out for help, but he has no voice or enough air in his lungs. The world is spinning out of control and he doesn’t know where he is anymore. His entire body aches and his brain seems that might explode at any moment now.

Then, things finally start to slow down until everything just fades away. Now, there is only darkness and silence and a dull ache in the back of his mind.

When he finally comes back to his senses, he is lying on the floor and Clara is not there anymore. He runs a hand over his face, trying to understand what just happened, how and why all those images and feelings had just invaded his mind and took control on him.

But that’s not all. Somehow he knows she regrets the kiss. And this is the thing that troubles him the most and burns inside his hearts. But he can’t think about that right now, his head hurts too much and there is this buzz in the back of his mind, like a faint whisper, calling him, coercing him to stand up and walk to the back of the house. To the creek. No. Not to the creek. To the blue box.

He must go there. He needs to get inside the damaged ship, what some part of his mind knows it will be impossible since she is locked. He shakes his head, but it is useless, the urge is still there, burning him from inside. And so he does it.

He feels so very tired and sick and struggles to get onto his feet. His head throbs with each step, but he keeps walking until he gets to the place where they keep the blue box hidden, under a cover of tree branches and leaves. He closes his eyes for a moment, the calling seems stronger now that he is close to the box, and keeps telling him to push the door open, to get inside. In a last effort, he removes branches enough to uncover the door and pushes it.

Mostly for his surprise, the door opens with a low creak and he tumbles inside, grasping at a handrail for support. It is dark and cold and so very quiet in there. A faint warm, that somewhat seems familiar, welcomes him and he feels embraced, caressed while the low whisper in the back of his mind soothes his fears and eases his pain.

It is comforting and peaceful and warm. Like home.

\-- 0 – 0 --

He opens his eyes and needs to blink once, twice until the blurred images come into focus. It’s quite dark where he is, except for the faint blue light that glimmers in the room. He props up his body on his elbows to slowly push himself up into a sitting position, feeling the cold of the metal floor under his hands. His head hurts.

He analyses his surroundings for a moment before he finally remembers. He is inside the blue box. The TARDIS. He came in last night and must’ve passed out on the floor.

He looks around. The place is a mess, lots of things scattered on the floor; books, metal pieces, a bookshelf, tools, wires, probably as the result of the crashing. Yet, he has this strange feeling of comfort for being there.

Home.

The word forms inside his head but it doesn’t come from him. It is like his mind has just caught someone else’s thoughts. A faint brush in the back of his mind, a familiar soothing caress and again, words come into his mind and he knows that he is safe in there.

Slowly, he stands and grabs the handrail, leaning against it until he feels steady on his feet. The faint flow of thoughts is still there, a low murmur, and he can’t understand why or from where this is coming.

He would like to believe that it is his memory coming back, but somehow, he knows that the flow of thoughts and feelings don’t belong to him.

He walks to the centre of the room and runs a hand through the metal console, his fingers tracing the buttons and levers, searching for something that he can recognise, something that can bring a memory, an image, a feeling.

And they are there, floating in the air that surrounds him, reassuring him. He knows that the ship is sentient and connected to him, Clara had told him once, through some kind of telepathic link.

Thief.

He walks around the console, eyes carefully studying the dozen of round symbols written at the top of the central column, trying to contain his own emotions and keep his feet on the ground with the sudden realisation. If this is the ship trying to communicate with him, it means that the telepathic link is open again, and maybe, just maybe, he is finally healing.

A touch telepath, Clara’s words echo in his mind. He runs a hand over his tired face. That can explain what happened when he had kissed Clara, the stream of rushed emotions and images that assaulted his mind and…

He sighs and leans against the console, closing his eyes, fighting against stubborn tears. If that is true, it means that he had been inside her mind and had seen what she sees and had felt what she feels. For the Doctor. For him.

And for a moment, he just can’t breathe because it is too much.

He can feel again that brush in his mind, his ship caring for him, soothing him and reassuring him that everything will be fine. He will be fine. But right now, he feels sick and needs to sit down and he does it, on the floor.

Near his foot, there is a broken monitor, partially covered by debris. He picks it, to take a look, trying to focus his mind on anything else that doesn’t risk breaking his heart over and over again. For a moment, he considers if he will be able to fix it. Maybe he can, especially if he can communicate with the ship. Maybe they can work together to fix her.

Then, he sees it, a book just there, under a piece of a metal plaque and wires, its bright blue cover catching his full attention. Slowly, he reaches for it and his long fingers caress the smooth leather cover, engraved with the same kind of round symbols that adorn the ship’s central column. His mother language that, unfortunately, he can’t read anymore.

His hearts just stop when he opens it. Clara.

It shouldn’t have surprised him, he should’ve known by now. Yet, he can’t avoid the fast beat of his hearts. Or the pain that takes over them while his fingers slowly flip through the pages. She is on every single page, and even if he doesn’t have the faintest memory of doing it, he can recognise the delicacy and precision of his own style in each drawing. His drawings.

\-- 0 – 0 --

There is no sign of him when she comes back from work. He is not at the workshop and the house is strangely quiet. Her mind races and her heart aches, full of conflicting thoughts and feelings.

She knows that she should’ve talked to him earlier, in the morning, before she had left. But she just couldn’t, too afraid of what she would find when she would look into his eyes. She still is. Terrified.

But there is no sense in running away from a confrontation that it is necessary to keep them both sane. They only have each other in this Universe, and she can’t feel crueller or more foolish to be avoiding him like that.

She sees it as soon as she opens her bedroom door, the pair of books neatly arranged over her bed and her heart instantly leaps inside her chest. His sketchbooks.

Slowly, she sits on the bed looking at them for a long moment before she runs a hand over the black cover of the one on the top. It’s smooth and cold under her touch.

And then everything stops when she flips the first page. Breath caught in her throat, her shaking fingers keep going, slowly, carefully, her eyes don’t believe in what she sees. The pages tell her a story of the deep feelings that lie inside his hearts. All the longing, the fire, the love that burns inside him, easily recognisable in his drawings.

She feels the prickle of tears burning in the corner of her eyes.

But it is the second book that finally breaks her. This is not one of those she had given him. It’s different. Its cover is bright blue with all those Gallyfrean symbols engraved on it. And her heart, foreseeing what is to come, aches inside her chest.

In the pages, she sees her last year portrayed with the same devotion, with the same passion she saw in the first book. She in the long dress she used when they met Robin Hood, her sleeping form wrapped in blankets at the beach after their adventure on the Orient Express, her beaming face at the console room when they came back from Karabraxos.

Her heart beats so loud and so hard that she thinks that it might explode because this is more than anything she could have dreamed to hear from him one day. It’s like a letter, a love poem, made of the curves and lines and shadows of his pencil.

If he still can’t remember his past, this book in her hands can only mean one thing. Hot tears roll down her face now. She is on every single page of this book in drawings that he had made before the crash. And yet, he had concealed all this from her and pushed her away and kept her in the dark when in his hearts he felt the same than her.

Slowly, with shaking hands, she closes the book and holds it close to her chest, over the place where her heart beats wildly.

\-- 0 – 0 --

She doesn’t know how long she stays there, crying alone in the dark of her bedroom, trying to heal the cracks in her heart, trying to compose herself enough to go after him.

She meets Maya at the back door and she casts her an alarmed look.

“Clara?”

“Have you seen him?”

Maya nods slowly, worry all over her face and Clara can’t blame her because she must be looking like hell after all the tears.

“He is in the blue box. For a while now.”

For a quick moment she is surprised, but then, all the pieces seem to fall into places. Of course, the TARDIS is open, he must have fetched the book with the blue cover from there. But she has no time to wonder why the ship has finally opened the doors with so much that needed to be said between them.

“Thanks,” she forces a smile but can tell that she fails by the way Maya keeps looking at her.

The TARDIS’ door opens with a low creak and the darkness and cold from inside receives her. She stays by the door, giving some time to her eyes to get used with the faint light the ship can produce by now and feels a low hum, like a faint welcome from the wounded old girl.

Clara pats the wall at her back gently while she looks around, searching for him. He is leaning against the console, supported by his hands, head down, his back to her and by now completely aware of her presence in there. The silence is heavy inside the ship and her steps echo while she slowly approaches him, stopping at a safe distance.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t look at her, doesn’t say a single word.

“I…” She feels the urge to speak, to try to mend the things, but she simply doesn’t know how to start this. She only knows that they need to talk. Now.


	5. I just wanna kiss you in the morning sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things change, and they can just hope that it will be forever, as long as forever can be for people like them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to misswinterseat for everything and for all of you that took sometime to read and leave your kudos and lovely comments!

“How did you know she was open?”

Her voice is soft and shaken next to him, but he doesn’t dare to face her and just lifts his head enough to stare at the central column in front of him. There is a hesitant movement beside him, a low shuffle and next thing he sees is the pair of books he had left on her bed earlier over the console, close to his left hand.

So now she knows. He can only hope that they can figure this out together.

“She called me,” he swallows, his mouth incredibly dry when he tightens his grip on the console. He can feel when her breath catches in her throat and immediately regrets his own stupidity but is not able to prevent her from asking the obvious question. The one for which he doesn’t have the expected answer. Not yet.

“So do you-”

“No,” he cuts her off, unable to let her say the words. Shaking his head slowly, he tries to ignore the twinge of pain in his chest because he knows that once more he is letting her down, sadly something that it is starting to become a kind of a pattern between them lately. He licks his dry lips, gaze falling upon the sketchbooks, still unable to meet hers. “I’m sorry.”

It takes her one more moment to speak again, and despite the effort she makes to sound soothing, she can’t conceal her sadness from him.

“It’s ok,” it’s what she says but he knows it isn’t. Nothing can be ok right now with so much hanging between them. “But it is great news. If you can feel the TARDIS again, it means that you’re healing.”

“I suppose so,” he says quietly, his fingers tracing the rim of the books before he finally rests his hand over the top one, feeling the engraved symbols on its bright blue cover under his palm. He watches when she slowly places her delicate hand next to his, close, oh, so very close, but not touching him as if she is afraid. Surely no more than him.

“She will help you,” she whispers, “You’d be better soon.”

He nods, contemplating their hands over the books and then looking around to all the damage that surrounds them.

“First, she needs me to help her.”

His hearts pound heavily while he tries to ignore the imminence of her touch, knowing what it will cause him. Yet, he is unable to move his hand, craving for her touch, longing to be embraced by the intensity of her feelings once more. Even if it will knock him down.

“She is still too damaged to function properly,” he adds.

“Do you know how to fix her?”

“Well, she can guide me, I think,” his forefinger traces one of the symbols on the book cover and he can feel her eyes following his motion all the time. Yet, she seems unable to close the small gap that still separates their hands.

“Why?”

It’s one single word, a simple question, that comes out of her lips in a whisper and that has nothing to do with his ability to fix the ship. It’s about the books, about them. And he doesn’t know if he has the right answer for her.

He finally lifts his eyes to look into hers for the first time since she came in and he can barely breathe at her sight. Big brown eyes stare back at him from over her tear stained cheeks and he feels his will faltering under the weight of everything that remains unsaid.

“You never knew, did you? He never told you,” his voice is a reverent whisper.

“No,” she shakes her head slowly, “you never told me.”

He swallows hard.

“Why not?

She lets out a heavy sigh, her voice as low as his.

“I don’t know,” her eyes are fixed on his, so full of everything. “You tell me.”

He looks down, considering her implied question for a moment.

“Same reason you never told him either, I suppose,” he swallows hard before fixing his gaze upon her. “Fear.”

“Fear?”

He nods, biting his lower lip. “Of losing you.”

Her dark eyes study him, a hundred of different emotions crossing her face in that small moment. How much he wants to hold her tight against his chest and soothe her fears and pains. If only he could.

“And are you no longer afraid?”

He lets out a tiny laugh, shaking his head slightly.

“I’m terrified.”

“So why now?”

He needs to avert his eyes for a moment, hesitating in answering her question.

And then, it finally happens. It is nothing more than a soft brush of her fingers on his, warm and innocent, probably a reassuring gesture to coerce him to look at her. But, just as he had feared, the rush of her emotions hits him with force enough to almost knock him down on his knees.

His sharp intake of breath startles her and she immediately pushes her hand back, big brown eyes full of worry locked on him while he needs to lean against the console to keep his balance. He bows his head, beads of sweat forms on his brow and he tries to regain his strength.

“Doctor?”

In any other moment he would be annoyed by her use of this name, but not now. Now it’s irrelevant before what he wants to tell her.

“Clara,” he breathes and closes his eyes raising one shaking hand, silently asking her for some more time while he breathes heavily.

“What happened?” She gives one step closer to him and he instantly moves back knowing that one more touch of her can make him lose his senses again.

“It’s just…” He finally manages to slow down his breathing and opens his eyes again to look at her. She is still there, watching him with a concerned look and he can only feel so very small, so very powerless because holding her is everything he wants to do and the only thing he can’t.

“Last night, when we kissed,” he forces himself to say, “I could feel you… inside my head,” he raises his hand to touch his forehead. “Your thoughts, your emotions, all of you, in my mind.”

He can see her eyes widening, just a little bit, and a spark of something else crossing them, so quickly that it was almost if it had never happened.

“I didn’t mean to intrude, I just don’t know how to control it,” he explains and shows her his hand, palm up, fingers anxiously stretching. “I suppose I knew it before.”

A slight nod of her head and her eyes meet his. “Hope so.”

There is a shadow of a smile on the corner of her lips that gives him some hope, but then, as quick as it showed, it vanishes.

“Last night. You just froze.”

He nods.

“It was too strong, too intense. First, I panicked, then,” he shrugs, “I blackened out.” His hand hovers over hers, but he doesn’t touch her. “Touch telepath,” he finally retreats his hand before he can succumb to the temptation.

“You’ve been in my head.”

Once more, he just nods.

“And saw my thoughts and,” she swallows hard, brows furrowing, “and…”

“Felt your feelings,” he completes when she hesitates, his eyes never leaving hers because he needs her to know that there is nothing to be ashamed of.

“That’s why… you showed me the sketchbooks?”

“Yes,” he nods slowly. “But not only,” he touches her elbow slightly when she lowers her gaze, taking the risk and hoping that her clothes can reduce the impact. But he needs to quickly remove his hand when he feels the brush of her mind in his.

His action has the desired effect. She raises her concerned eyes at him and he attempts to smile just to reassure her.

“Don’t you see?” His voice is hoarse and low when he finally speaks. “I don’t know many things right now. I don’t remember all the planets and galaxies and civilisations I saw. I can’t remember anything, a day, a single moment of a more than two thousand years of life. And yet, you remained, whole and strong, inside me.”

His eyes explore her face gently, carefully memorising every line, every curve and he sees the glint of unshed tears in her eyes.

“I lost everything, but you,” he places his hand once more over the book cover. “And nothing, nothing, will change this.”

She lowers her head just a little and cleans the stubborn tears that roll down her face with the back of her hand. But there is a hint of a smile when she looks at him, biting her lower lip.

“And you choose to tell me this right now,” she dries her eyes again, but the stubborn smile forces its way on her lips, painfully shy, but undeniably there, “when I can’t touch you.”

A short laugh escapes his lips and he runs a hand through his untamed curls.

“Well, someone once told me I had never a good timing despite being a Time Lord.”

This time, she laughs, even if the tears are still rolling down her faces, and her brown eyes sparkle with so much love that ignites a fire inside him and makes almost impossible for him to refrain his urge to hold her in his arms. He groans and runs a hand over his face in frustration. But what will be the point if he will pathetically faint over her?

“Hey,” her voice is soothing and warm. “You are healing. Things are coming back to you,” her dimples make an appearance just to shake him more, “You will be fine. Soon.”

“Hope so,” he moans and looks at her. “And you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Clara…” There is something else inside her eyes that makes him doubt it.

She sighs, but her gaze is soft and warm like the sun upon him.

“I really am. As much as I can be right now, that is.”

Before he can say anything else, she tilts her head and furrows her perfect eyebrows, eyes scanning the place in search of something. Then, she just runs downstairs.

“Clara?”

“I know it is here, somewhere…” Her voice comes muffled by the sound of things being dragged, metal against metal, opening and closing of doors and drawers. “Oh, it is really a mess down here! We have a lot of work to do.”

He is about to meet her downstairs when her triumphant voice stops him.

“Ah! I knew it!”

He casts her a suspicious glance when she meets him at the top of the stair, a cheeky smile on her lips when she closes the distance between them with decisive steps.

“Here,” she places something in his hand. It takes him a couple of seconds to realise what it is and he raises one inquisitive eyebrow at her.

“Really?” He stares at the pair of thick black gloves with furrowed brows.

“Well, if I can’t kiss you, at least I can hold your hand,” she tilts her head and looks at him in that adorable way that makes him melt, but he is too surprised for it, her words burning in his chest. “Go on, give it a try.”

He blinks.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

She looks at him as if he has just told the most absurd thing and the world. And he probably has.

“You’ve been inside my head,” her smile widens. “You should know by now.”

He smirks, eyes sparkling.

“I do,” he slides his hands inside the gloves before he reaches out for her hand. “I really do.”


End file.
